


Date Night

by Funkingrunkles



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Date Night, Established Relationship, F/M, Sex, Shit fuck I don't know how to tag this stuff, Voice Kink, alcohol mention, its vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkingrunkles/pseuds/Funkingrunkles
Summary: Sometimes, you're pretty sure Stan likes to take you out just so he can undress you later.
Relationships: Stan Pines/Reader, Stanley Pines/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing this kind of stuff, I'm new here. Uhhh if it sucks, pls tell me and maybe give me some advice if you have it? Anyway here goes

Sometimes, you’re pretty sure Stan likes to take you out just so he can undress you later. 

Tonight date is a semi-nice restaurant, a walk through town, and an hour in a bookstore reading every ridiculous title you can get your hands on. The clerk all but kicks you out at ten PM, setting you loose punch-drunk on laughter and each other’s company.

In the car, Stan holds onto your thigh with one big, warm hand. You’re wearing one of your favorite outfits--a soft sweater, criminally short ruffled skirt, black tights, and thigh-high socks on top of that. You’ve seen Stan’s gaze drifting more than once through the night, and if you’re being entirely honest, that little bit of chest hair peeking out of his button-up has been driving you crazy. You take his hand in yours and eke it just a little closer to the hem of that short, short skirt. His eyes don’t leave the road thankfully (his driving is enough of a hazard as it is), but his eyebrows shoot up and stay there.

“Whatcha doin’ there, doll?”

You play your fingers over the back of his hand with light touches. “Oh, just enjoying your company is all.”

“Mhm. Are you hoping to...continue to enjoy it?”

You just chuckle in response. He finally gives you a look, as much as he can while still driving in the dark.

“Well, I  _ guess _ I can invite you up for a few minutes, if you really want to.”

He smirks and his fingers encroach on your hemline just a little farther. “I think I can stand a few more minutes of ya.”

You unbuckle and scoot closer to Stan on the bench seat, all the way up until your leg is pressed against him. 

“Hey, buckle up, that’s not s- _ AFe _ \--! What the fuck do you think you’re doing down there?”

Halfway through his scolding, your hand just so happens to come down in a place that is decidedly not his thigh. He squirms under your touch, already a little hard. You palm over him and smile as his breath hitches adorably in his throat. “I’ll stop if you want.”

“I’m--uh, I'm drivin’ here toots.”

Your hand doesn’t stop moving. “That you are.” He’s thoroughly flustered now--even in the half-light of the car, you can see his cheeks turning red. God, you love how  _ easy _ it is to make him blush. 

“It’s dangerous,” he offers in a small voice.

“I see.” 

You pull your hand away and rest it instead on his knee, then lay your head against his shoulder. He lets out a long, quiet hum that you almost don’t catch over the rumble of the engine. Is that a  _ whine _ ? 

Your answer seems to come in the form of the speed he’s rapidly gaining on these back roads. 

“You in a hurry there, sweetheart?”

He laughs, low and humorless. “Fuck you.”

“I was hoping you would.”

The car speeds up again. 

For all his hurry, Stan parks his car very carefully in front of your apartment and methodically goes about turning off the car and the headlights. He comes around to the passenger side of the car to open the door and give you a hand to get out. Except as soon as the door is shut, He grabs you behind the knees and swings you up over his shoulder.

You gasp and grab fistfuls of his shirt. “Stan!” You shriek--first with surprise and a healthy little bit of fear, then with laughter. This is why your neighbors hate you.

Stan walks you up to the door and puts you down gently, grinning like a shark. You try very, very hard not to let yourself smile back at him while you get the door unlocked.

Inside, Stan kicks off his shoes and hangs back in the doorway. You hang your bag on the hook by the door, take off your own shoes, and put your keys on the table. You're reaching for the light switch when Stan’s hands grab your shoulders from behind, spin you around, and press you against the wall. 

Suddenly you’re trapped between his arms and he’s giving you that  _ look _ \--the one you always get when he’s about to fuck the life out of you. He stares at you through dark eyebrows and sets his strong jaw to one side like he’s a predator sizing up a meal. It sends a thrill through you from your head to your toes, then back up between your legs. He hasn’t even touched you yet, and you’re breathless. 

You smile and lean in slowly, giving his resolve a chance to melt away. It does, predictably, and he meets your kiss with his own. His lips are warm, his cheeks are scratchy with stubble, and his hand finds your waist right away. This kiss is undoubtedly Stan Pines, and to you that means  _ home _ .

His tongue darts across your lip and he hums when he gets a taste of your chapstick. You part your lips to let him have his way while your fingers thread through his hair. You idly trace the familiar contours of his body with the other hand. Strong hip, muffin top, muscular back, arms that hold you so tightly at night. He takes you by the jaw and pushes you back. You think he wants you to stop kissing him until his mouth follows yours when you pull away, and you eventually stumble back into the wall. You let out a giggle at the same time as he growls. He presses his body against you and you kiss him with increased fervor until you’re both panting. He gets a grip on you and lifts you like you weigh nothing, hooking your legs around his middle. His hands slip inside your sweater and you can’t contain your little moan as skin meets skin. Just that is enough to give you a rush.

“Shit,” he mutters. He pulls away from the wall, keeping a safe grasp on your thighs while he makes for the bedroom.

You press a trail of hot kisses down his neck and blindly start working on those buttons on his shirt. You hit the bed and he pulls away just long enough to tug the shirt over his head, forgoing the buttons altogether. You take the brief window to tear your own shirt off to expose a lacy, barely-there black bra.

He pauses, standing over the bed between your legs. This used to intimidate you--this pause and study deal he always does when undressing you. Now you know he’s just a big sap.

“Have I ever told you how fuckin’ gorgeous you are, doll?”

You bite your lip in an attempt to stifle a goofy grin. “Only every day.”

He dives back in, mouth finding your shoulder and biting gently. “Good,” he mumbles against your skin. He rests one knee on the mattress beside your body and grasps your covered breast, squeezing gently.

You melt under his every touch, heating up like an oven. The tights  _ and _ stockings combo you’re wearing is helpful for staying warm in the Autumn weather, but now it’s  _ too _ warm. “Stan,” you murmur, “undress me.”

He pulls back, eyes lit up. “ _ Gladly _ .”

The skirt is easy enough with the elastic waistband--he just tugs it down over your hips and lays it to the side. The lacy black underwear you’re wearing underneath the tights makes him groan in anticipation. He tugs at one sock and--it doesn’t move. “What the--is this one piece?”

You can't help your giggle. “No, the socks are separate.” 

He pulls again and only makes a centimeter of progress. “Oh come on…”

You clamp your hands over your mouth as you continue to laugh. Stan swats at your thigh, but that only makes you laugh  _ harder _ . 

He grasps the stocking by the top and tugs it off, nearly pulling you along with it. The fabric of the stockings wants to cling to the synthetic fibers of the tights, it’s an issue you face every time you wear this outfit. It’s not usually this big of an ordeal though. 

You swallow back your laughter and ask tightly, “You, uh, need some help?”

“I am not gonna let these  _ socks _ keep me from that pussy.”

And the laughter begins anew. That gets him real flustered. Finally, he grabs the tights by the waist band and peels it all off at once, nearly tugging you right off the bed in the process. You’re giggling near-hysterically by the time he manages to get them all the way off and throw them, with no little amount of disgust, across the room.

“You better not be laughing at me,” he grumbles. 

You struggle to take in a breath and wipe away a tear. “ _ Nooo _ baby, I would never.”

He lays down on top of you, one leg between yours, and dips his head to your breast. You almost gasp in anticipation as he breathes hotly on it, then teases your nipple ever so slightly with his teeth. “Mmm, I love your laugh. Even when I'm the fool you’re laughin’ at.”

He nips at your breast again, and when he pulls away your body instinctively tries to follow. 

You can't take it--you have to get out of this bra right _fucking_ _now_. You contort your arms behind you to unhook it, then Stan pulls it off from the front. His mouth is instantly on you again, tongue flicking across your skin and hot breath leaving goosebumps all over you. You moan and arch back into the bed as he grazes his teeth against your nipple again. He knows how it makes you feel--wet, and aching for the fullness of him, and he's teasing you anyway. 

“Stanley,” you gasp out. Your hand finds the back of his head and grips a handful of hair unintentionally. “F-ff _ fuck _ ,” is all you can get out in between full body shudders.

You jump when his hand unexpectedly palms at your underwear. Through the fabric, his thumb finds your clit and rubs a few circles into the sensitive nub. You manage to focus just long enough to look down and catch the view--Stan’s mouth on your tit, his hand on your underwear, and his other hand palming himself through his slacks. God, he has a big fuckin’ dick. He's going to bust a seam in his pants one of these days. 

He catches your eyes and pulls away from your breast with a long, sucking  _ pop _ ! A devilish grin takes over his flushed face. “‘S the matter, sweetheart? Feelin’ a little flustered?”

You push yourself up on your elbows and press a kiss to his lips. “Fuck you,” you whisper.

He lets out a hearty laugh, then flicks his thumb again. You gasp at the sensation and nearly flop like bonelessly into the mattress. He tucks a finger into your underwear, soaked through now, and pulls them off in one fluid motion. While he loses his own trousers and underwear, you scoot back up onto the pillows. You laugh at the sight of him standing there naked, tearing the condom open with his teeth. 

He climbs on top of you and the head of his cock brushes against your folds, hot and slick. A little whine of pleasure escapes him, but he stays hovering right where he is. “I love you.”

You hook a finger in his gold chain while your cheeks flush even hotter. You're aching to just buck your hips into him and get going, but this view--the strong jaw, the muscles in his neck and shoulders more prominent than ever--it’s enough to convince you to wait just one moment more. “I love you too.” Your hand trails over his chest, fingernails scraping through the thick carpet of hair. Your breath is coming in small, trembling fits. 

He slowly, pointedly runs his thumb across his tongue and rolls your nipple between his fingers while continuing to tease at your entrance. Your hips  _ do _ buck this time, and  _ miss. _

“Stan!” you cry. “Will you please fuck me already!”

He laughs, low and rumbling in his chest, but complies all the same. He lines himself up and slowly slides his way in. Your toes curl and fingers clutch at his shoulders as he fills you at his own leisure, going deep, deep,  _ deeper _ until he’s as far in as he can go, and a squeak escapes you involuntarily.

“ _ Fuuuck _ ,” he moans. His eyes screw shut while he stays there, deep as he can be, arms braced on either side of your head. 

You grab his ass and pull him in, wrapping your legs around his and pushing him that extra bit deeper. You moan in unison.

Then he pulls out, slowly  _ slowly _ , and thrusts back in. In a blur of hot friction, he finds a rhythm while you kiss and suck a row of purple marks down his neck and shoulder. The entire bed is shuddering underneath you and you know your downstairs neighbors are going to complain again tomorrow, but you really could not care less at the moment.

Stan angles himself to grind his pelvis against yours and thrusts deliberately to give you that much more pleasure, eliciting a cry from deep within you. “You sexy fucking woman,” he growls in your ear, each word accentuated with a thrust. “What do you want, hm? I wanna make you scream.”

You laugh breathlessly, still shaking and crying with every deep thrust. “Keep talking.”

The world moves beneath you suddenly as Stan slides his arms beneath your shoulders and, without even pulling out, hoists you up onto his lap. He holds you close, breast pressed against breast, and puts his thumb on your clit at the same time as he runs his tongue, feather light, around the shell of your ear and you  _ melt _ . 

“ _ Do you have any idea how good you are? Mm, that's right, moan. You make as much noise as you want baby. _ ”

Stan's every touch sends shocks through your body, making your thighs twitch and your toes curl and your head fall into the crook of his neck while he fucks you six ways to Sunday. 

“ _ I love being inside you, you're the best I've ever had sweetheart. You're so beautiful. _ ”

Your hands grasp desperately at his shoulders, wanting to keep yourself seated, wanting to somehow get him in  _ deeper _ . You know you're practically sobbing on him now for all your gasping and moaning. Distantly, you know Stan is still speaking in your ear, but your overstimulated mind can't make out anything except your own name and his gruff laugh.

“I'm--” you gasp and swallow hard. “I'm gonna--” You're cut off by your own cry as the world goes white around the edges and ceases to exist--there's only you and Stan and the blinding pleasure sending you over the edge. You grab his hand, stilling that  _ fucking thumb _ , and ride it out until you  _ can't _ anymore. 

You sag against him, gasping for breath like a woman half-drowned. He stills and wraps his arms around you, rocking slightly to the side. His cock is twitching for more inside you, thighs soaked with your slick. 

“You good, hon?”

You slap at him half heartedly. “Shut up.”

He chuckles and moves your hair aside to press a tender kiss to your cheekbone. “Ready for more?”

“End me,” you groan. 

He gently pulls you off him, then lays you out on your stomach. You grab a pillow and before you even have a chance to get used to this new position, he's plunged back in. His fingers dig into your ass and hold your legs together through the involuntary twitching and spasming. 

The next moments are just a blur of white-hot euphoria until Stan is the one moaning and you hear your own voice crying out obscenities as you edge closer and closer to a second orgasm. He slides a hand under your stomach and with the first flick of his fingertip against your bundle, you’re quivering and white-knuckling the sheets. His thrusts falter and become more erratic until, with a stuttered moan, he cums too. 

He rests his hands on the small of your back and you feel his hair burgs against your skin as he hangs his head, panting. “I didn't think you were gonna make it,” he says at length. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

You weren't sure either, so you say nothing.

The condom snaps as he ties it off and tosses it in the trash, then he collapses on the mattress beside you. Face in the sheets, he groans long and loudly.

You laugh. With all the energy left in your body, you turn onto your side and snuggle into him. He takes you into his arms and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Damn,” he croaks. He sounds as wrecked as you feel. “We’re gunna have to talk about that voice kink you've got there.”

You feel your cheeks heat all over again and slap his bare shoulder. “Shut up, Pines.”

He nuzzles into your neck, scratchy stubble and all. “See, that's not how voice kinks work--mmph, mm.”

You duck your chin and catch his mouth on yours--to shut him up if nothing else. He catches your chin between his fingers and brushes his fingertips along your jawline, happily humming through the kiss.

He finally pulls away with a small, contented sigh. “I would rate this date night ten outta ten.”

You smile. “I dunno, maybe we could do better.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is that--are you challenging me? You wanna be able to walk tomorrow or not?”

You flop on your back and throw your arm over your forehead in a false swoon. “Oh Stanley, I already can't walk. That’s why you’ll have to go get the drinks.”

He shuffles off the bed wordlessly, off to the kitchen for a round of drinks and after that, another round of you. 


End file.
